


Paint It Black

by Mrstserc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrstserc/pseuds/Mrstserc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stress he's under becomes too much and Dean is hospitalized in the psych ward. Sam is left trying to understand. This idea has been itching at my brain. There may be some mild cussing, but it's mostly a psychological evaluation. I do not have ownership of the brothers Winchester or anything Supernatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“I look inside myself and see my heart is black._

_I see my red door and it has been painted black._

_Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts;_

_It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black.”_

**_Paint it Black_** by **The Rolling Stones**

“The Past is Prologue.” Sam’s trying to remember which of his classes at Stanford he heard that in, and which professor led the discussion, but mostly he is sitting slumped and uncomfortable in a too small blue plastic chair in a waiting area outside the emergency room of The University of Kansas Medical Center in Kansas City. It seems like he has spent way too much time in his life doing that, waiting for doctors to check out his father or his brother – injured from some hunt or another – with Sam sitting on the edge of the chair praying things would be okay. Sam’s pretty sure he’s had his fill of being the patient – his final time if he has anything to say about it was his stay in the mental ward; but then again…Dean, his brother…worrying about Dean just might be the death of him. His fingers fumble against each other as he admits to himself that he expects Dean will soon be locked in a psych ward himself.

“Shakespeare, that’s it, from The Tempest,” Sam surprises himself in remembering his college sophomore English Lit survey course – so long ago now that he really doesn’t want to think about that -- but at the time the thought had frightened him; he had been hoping to put the past completely behind him. Sure seems like Shakespeare had it right and the present is always affected by the past; and given Dean’s past, it is no wonder that he shattered. Dean, his emotionally constipated big brother, has lost contact with reality, and Sam doesn’t know if all the doctors and nurses will be able to bring him back. He almost wishes something supernatural triggered this. Sam really wishes he hadn’t been the catalyst.

Sam runs his hands through his hair and scrubs at his face tiredly. He wonders if he has waited long enough to ask, again, what’s going on. Maybe they gave Dean a shot and he’s back to himself. Maybe he snuck out of the hospital, not wanting to see Sam after what Sam said. Maybe he’ll never want to talk to Sam again. Sam almost groans at the weight of the guilt that feels like it’s compressing his chest and making him unable to breathe. Someone damn well better get out here and tell him what’s going on. Last time Sam asked the nurse at the desk for information she told him someone would be out soon to get some information from him.

He has waited quietly long enough, Sam decides, but as soon as Sam stands, the nurse turns toward him; it’s like she was watching from the corner of her eye as he became more restless. Fortunately for both of them, the double doors swing open at the same time and a slender middle-aged woman wearing a doctor’s coat comes through, no stethoscope, just the white coat neatly buttoned, a clipboard in her hands. Sam’s head turns toward her with a questioning look. “Are you the family of Dean Smith?” She asks, head tilted up to make eye contact with the young giant.

“Yes, that’s me. I, umm, I’m Sam. Sam Smith. Dean’s brother.” Sam responds. He and Dean still use the identities Frank Devereaux built for them whenever they do anything mundane. It is the best and most thorough identity either has and they try to keep it spotless, health insurance included. “Is, is he okay? How is my brother? What’s wrong with Dean?”

The doctor, whose nametag identifies her as a Smith also, holds up a hand. “Let’s go over here to a consultation room. I have some questions for you that will help me understand what’s going on. And I think we want more privacy than we are going to get right here.” Sam looks around the waiting room, catching other people turning away, and he realizes that there is no way to have a conversation in this room full of people just waiting without eavesdroppers.

“I understand,” Sam says, and he follows Doctor Smith over to a small room that has several chairs around an oval table, taking a seat in a slightly larger version of the waiting room chairs. “Please, how’s Dean? What’s wrong with him?”

Dr. Smith is assessing him, peering at him over the dark frames of her glasses, making him feel like she must think he’s going to fall apart, and it is starting to amp up Sam’s anxiety. He takes a deep breath and tries to steady his nerves. Exhaling, Sam asks her to explain what is wrong with his brother. “Has there been any change since I brought him in?”

“No. Your brother’s condition is unchanged. He is being admitted and moved to a room in the Psychiatric wing. He was brought here in a stupor – with motor immobility and waxy flexibility.” Doctor Smith stops, as though what she said is sufficient information for now.

Sam disagrees. “What does that even mean? How is he; why is he doing this?””

The doctor’s gaze stays on Sam, still watching him intently. “Your brother, Dean, is displaying catatonic traits. He will not maintain eye contact, does not interact or speak, his limbs are immobile except they will stay in place if someone else maneuvers them into position – that’s what waxy flexibility means.”

“I knew all that,” Sam is getting impatient. Dean has been behind those doors for hours; Sam wants to hear why Dean is behaving this way, not get a recap of the symptoms. He knows the symptoms – tried to snap Dean out of them before giving up and loading him into the Impala for the trip to the hospital. “Why is he doing this? What’s wrong with him?”

“We are running tests to rule out possibilities like stroke, encephalitis, or adverse drug reaction.” Sam sucks in a breath like he’s been punched. Damn it. A stroke? What if he hurt Dean more trying to snap him out of this state he is in? The doctor continues. “What I need from you is a more complete history on your brother in case the cause is an acute stress response.” The doctor has said all of this calmly, but even the thought of Dean maybe having had a stroke or encephalitis is making Sam more upset. She tilts her head slightly, still watching him…observing him, Sam realizes.

“Did you hit him?” Doctor Smith asks. “I noticed a large hand-shaped fresh bruise on his face.”

“I was trying to get him to snap out of it. I found him just sitting on the side of his bed, not moving, not responding. I, well, I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was just trying to ….” Sam trails off realizing he is repeating himself. Great, now they’ll think I’m the violent one. Sam and Dean had been arguing, and yeah, maybe he got a little mean, said things he regrets. Maybe he should have realized that Dean was holding too much inside. Maybe he could have been a little more sympathetic about Benny’s death. About Cas’s leaving. About everything Dean’s been holding back. But Sam’s tired and feeling sick. It’s hard not to lash out sometimes, and Dean has always taken it in stride before.

“Dean has quite a few bruises and scars. Maybe you could tell me how he got those. Additionally, I need to know about his physical and mental health histories.” She brings out a small digital recorder from the coat pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to record the conversation so I can have it transcribed. I need to know if he or anyone in your family has ever exhibited a stress response like this – stupor, mutism, psychotic break. Has he ever been diagnosed with or exhibited symptoms of depression, anxiety disorders, ADD or ADHD, drug or alcohol abuse; and if he has experienced a recent trauma or loss of a loved one. From my personal assessment, I can say that while we will test, I expect this is a mental, not physical health issue.”

“When will you know something?” Sam asks, wanting her to say it will be soon, but he can tell by her clinical and detached look that she is more interested right now in whatever background he can give her than in what he wants. Her face softens slightly at his hang dog expression. “The background may help.” She offers.

Sam starts with early childhood, the scrubbed-free-of-supernatural version. Dean’s mother died in a house fire a couple months before his fifth birthday. He may have seen it. Dean carried his little brother, Sam, to safety. According to stories, Sam believes that Dean stopped speaking to anyone except Sam for several months after the fire. There followed a childhood of Dean taking much of the responsibility of raising his sibling and himself while their alcoholic father moved them frequently – for work - and sometimes left them alone for weeks with Dean in charge.

“How old was your brother the first time that happened?” Doctor Smith doesn’t look detached any longer. She is enmeshed in the narrative. Sam admits he doesn’t remember, but it was commonplace by the time Dean was ten. Sam says as far as he knows Dean was never diagnosed with ADHD or a learning disorder, and that he quit school to hold a job and support the family after his father was injured during Dean’s senior year. “But he got his GED.” Sam hates how defensive that sounds. “My brother is very smart, even if he isn’t overly educated in a traditional sense. He reads a lot, and is a genius with mechanical things. Anyway, Dad died about six years ago.”

Inhaling noisily, Sam wipes his forehead. He’s sweating, and their childhood was the easy part of their backstory. Doctor Smith encourages him to continue. Sam thinks he has hit on a plausible lie, something close enough to the truth that it will give the doctors something to work with to help Dean.

“My brother and I are like bounty hunters. We hunt down the ones that are too dangerous for most other people like us. That’s why he’s got so many scars. Dean was caught up in one case and was swept into a war zone for a year. Our mentor died right before Dean went to the combat zone. Dean escaped and came home about seven months ago. I noticed some changes in him, survivor’s guilt, and some symptoms of depression. But I think it actually helps with his drinking problem – he had been drinking way too much. As far as recent losses, yeah, one of the guys who was with him in the combat zone just died. The other, well, he, uh, beat my brother up before taking off for points unknown. That’s what we were fighting about. Dean lets people get away with stuff he shouldn’t. Self-esteem problems.”

Sam’s afraid he has said too much now, but he really wants Dean to get help.

“Is that an issue? His self-esteem, that is? Can you tell me why? Has he ever been abused or beaten, and by whom?” The doctor’s matter-of-fact tone actually helps soften the question. It’s like she’s not judging, just looking to fill in pieces of the puzzle that is Dean. But Sam knows the answer - the truth – is going to sound awful if he has to leave out demon possession and demon blood addiction.

Sam decides to answer anyway. “My brother has been through hell.” Well, that was the truth, literally and figuratively. “Who has ever beaten him up? My dad, our mentor Bobby, his friend that he was in combat with, me.” The last is said very softly.

The doctor is jotting notes on the paper as Sam falls silent again. She looks up with what Sam assumes is a purposely neutral expression and prompts him. “Is there a significant other in his life? Spouse? Children?”

Taking a minute to gather his thoughts, Sam starts again. The doctor’s questions are making Sam hurt. He knows Dean went through all of this, but living with the guy day to day, Sam doesn’t think about it. “Dean was living with a woman a few years ago, but they broke up. Sometimes I think he misses her son more than he does her. He was like a son to Dean, and Dean loves kids. He’s not allowed to see Ben anymore.” A deep breath, then Sam starts again. “Dean had a daughter too. He, umm, he didn’t really know her or her mom well, mom was a one-night stand, but the girl showed up a couple years ago to say hello, you’re my father. She was in her mid-teens.” Sam checks the doctor’s face. “She, I mean Emma, died in front of Dean.”

The doctor taps her paper with her pen. “Has your brother ever gotten any help with any of this? Professional or even just someone to talk to?” At Sam’s strangled no, the doctor tries again. “Does he have any other friendships, social or religious organizations to sustain him?” Sam shakes his head again. “Hobbies or other outlets for his stress?” she persists.

“No. Dean doesn’t…he isn’t like that. He’s usually self-sufficient, kind of a loner, even though he’s outgoing enough, I guess. He, he, hides stuff inside and won’t talk about his feelings. Mostly it’s just me and Dean. He takes care of me.” Sam is tired of the questioning. He’s back to running his hands through his hair, stressed. “When can I see him?”

Doctor Smith gathers her digital recorder and her clipboard as she stands. “Mr. Smith, I am very sorry, but given what you have told me, I don’t think it would be in your brother’s best interest for us to let you see him.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“The same old places and the same old songs_

_We've been going there for much too long_

_There's something wrong and it gives me that feeling_

_Inside that I know I must be right_

_It's the singer not the song.”_

**_The Singer Not the Song_** by **The Rolling Stones**

 

Sam throws his duffel on the first bed in the cheap generic-style hotel he found just a couple miles away from the medical center, bypassing the closer lodging as too expensive. Without thinking he’s booked a room with two beds, and it pisses him off a little. Two beds because Dean is supposed to be in one, lounging with his boots kicked off and making smart-assed responses to Sam’s remarks. He sure as hell isn’t supposed to be locked up in a psych ward with Sam not even allowed to visit him. “Not in Dean’s best interest, my ass,” he mutters. “Wait ‘til he wakes up and see how that works for you.”

Doctor Smith said Sam can come back and maybe see Dean, supervised, in the morning. She also said if the results of the tests were back, and the catatonic state was anxiety or a severe stress reaction that they planned to begin treatment for Dean using Lorazepam. When Dean was more responsive, they would like to include Sam in counseling sessions. She also said if Dean didn’t respond to the drugs, they may have to try electroshock treatment. “Like strapping Dean to a table and shooting electricity across his brain isn’t too much like torturing him,” Sam huffs, determined to find a way to break Dean back out before letting them do that to him.

He knows he needs to sleep, but Sam isn’t sure he’s going to be able to tonight, despite having rented a hotel room. Eat too, he thinks. Take care of himself because Dean isn’t here to do it, and because maybe he needs to start taking care of his brother. Seems funny that the guy, who would tell him to tough it out, to play through the pain, is the one who ended up cracking. But honestly, Sam knows bottling things up is not a healthy response to the stress they live with – and have lived with – since 1983. He just wishes he realized how close Dean was to the tipping point before he tumbled over. He wishes he could reset the clock, take back the words…

_“What is wrong with you, Dean? Why are you so willing to be everyone’s punching bag?” Sam was shouting at Dean – Dean who insisted on honesty from Sam; Dean who just now admitted to his brother that Castiel had beaten him almost to death before taking the angel tablet. Yeah, that was a nice little tidbit to have left out the first time. Castiel healed him, but that doesn’t make it right. And this is the second time that frikkin’ angel had beaten his brother badly. What kind of brother lets stuff like let go without a word?_

_“And don’t you ever talk to me again about lying. Ever. You are the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met. Not telling me everything – that’s the same as lying, Dean. And letting yourself get beaten like that – I’m ashamed of you. Did you even fight back? I’m ashamed to be your brother! I’m sick of this, sick of you being Castiel’s lapdog, sick of you moping around about killing a vampire, and I’m sick of you!” Sam slammed out of Dean’s bedroom, and - even though he half expected him to - Dean didn’t follow. When Sam didn’t see Dean the next day, didn’t even hear him moving around, he finally opened Dean’s door again to find him sitting there, exactly like he was the night before, completely, eerily unresponsive._

“When did I become so much like Dad?” Sam asks himself.

**. . . . . . .**

Morning coffee in hand, Sam watches through the window into Dean’s room at the hospital. Right now Dean is sleeping, his back toward the window, curled slightly and hugging his pillow, looking smaller than Sam remembers and defenseless. Unlike so many other hospital stays, Dean is not hooked up to life support; he’s not even on an IV. Instead of a gown, he is dressed in scrub pants and a plain white tee-shirt as he lies atop a made bed. His injuries don’t show this time but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t serious. They are injuries Sam helped inflict, but as Doctor Smith has just told him, Dean doesn’t hold it against him.

Doctor Smith called first thing in the morning to let Sam know that Dean had come out of his stupor, but was still being medicated to help him through the acute stress reaction. She said Dean had taken all the blame on himself, effectively exonerating Sam of any wrongdoing, and that Sam would be allowed to visit. Dean is asking for his brother.  Sam’s getting to see him, but he’s not allowed to wake him. Besides, first he has another meeting scheduled with Doctor Smith. The nurse at the station tells Sam that the doctor is waiting to see him, and points to a room further down the hall. Sam straightens his shoulders as he taps on the doorframe before walking in and shutting the door for privacy.

“Please come in, Mr. Smith.” Sam winces at that and asks Doctor Smith to call him Sam. “Well, Sam, before you see your brother, I was hoping we could talk a little bit about what we need to do to help Dean recover. The crisis is past, but your brother’s fragile state is not. Burying it will probably be his first defense, and we’ll need to overcome his reluctance to achieve recovery. We need your help to ensure he doesn’t get away with it because it will hurt him in the long run if he doesn’t deal with it now.”

Sam sips at his coffee, already foreseeing the difficulty of getting Dean to talk about his feelings. His brother is going to try to kick dirt over this and walk off, just like a cat in a litter box. “Doctor Smith, my brother is not going to open up. I really doubt he’s going to change suddenly and want to share. Besides talking to him about feelings, are there other things I can do to help? Some pill he can take? Because, I know my brother, he’s not going to want to be open about his emotions. He’s going to check himself out and go.”

“It won’t be quite so easy for him to leave.” Doctor Smith straightens up a little. “We can keep him up to three days on a doctor committal, which I will now put into motion. Your brother had an extremely acute reaction. Not dealing with the causes will leave him vulnerable to a relapse – where he could put himself in danger. It would be best if you can convince him to cooperate with the treatment plan. And yes, I will be prescribing antidepressants and antianxiety medications for him, but as important will be for him to talk to a professional.”

Sam holds up his hands in the age old gesture of surrender. “Doctor, I’m on your side. I’m just concerned about how my brother will take this. I promise to do my best to get him to participate fully in your treatment program. Speaking of, when can I see my brother?”

Before the doctor lets Sam leave, she explains when visiting hours are, and how they are separate from Sam’s participation in counseling sessions. Doctor Smith also gives Sam a lecture about self-esteem. “It takes at least ten positives to overcome each negative. This episode is going to give your brother intense negative feelings about his coping abilities. He is going to need all his loved ones to help him re-establish a positive view of himself. Will you do that?”

Once Sam affirms his willingness to help his brother, the doctor reminds him that Dean is still being treated with a strong medication which will continue to make him dizzy and drowsy until his body adjusts.  “He’s also emotionally raw right now, and we consider him at risk and on a suicide watch. Please do not bring in anything he could harm himself with. Also, these medications do not react well with alcohol. We are monitoring him in case of withdrawal symptoms.”

Sam feels like she has been punching him, landing blows left and right. Dean is suicidal? Is that even a remote possibility? It’s not something Sam has considered, well, at least not since Dean hasn’t been drinking as heavily. He walks back to the desk and willingly takes a locker key to divest himself of anything that Dean could hurt himself with if he were to get ahold of it. Sam’s glad for the bit of privacy the room gives him as he locks up his gun, knife, pens, keys, and even his wallet. The quiet gives him time to think too, and his palms grow sweaty worrying about what he’s going to say, and what Dean is going to say. He wishes he still had faith left for prayer, his mind flitting to Castiel then retreating.

His heart racing and a sick feeling in his stomach, Sam waits at the door as the nurse unlocks it. He hadn’t really thought about that; this room is essentially a prison cell. The nurse closes the door behind Sam and he moves toward the bed and touches Dean lightly on the shoulder after he pulls up a chair alongside the bed. “Dean? Hey, Dean. You awake?”

Green eyes blink at him sleepily, and Dean licks his lips as he comes awake. “Sammy?”

“Yeah, it’s me. How are you doing?” Sam can’t believe that the one word has him tearing up in relief. Dean’s stupor had really scared him. With Dean at least responsive, Sam has more hope in them getting through this.

Dean responds like he’s underwater, slow motion movements bringing him to a sitting position. He still has his pillow but now it’s on his lap, hands clenched to it like it’s a life preserver.  Dean’s hands fumble to the table beside the bed and drinks from a plastic water mug filled with ice water. His eyes fly to his brother’s face and then skitter away, and Sam watches as Dean’s face suffuses with tell-tale red.

“Guess I’m even more of an embarrassment to you now, huh?” Dean asks, voice husky and harsh, and Sam sucks in his breath through his teeth. The younger Winchester knows he should have expected it. Dean’s awake again, and his older brother always did think that the best defense was a good offense. Sam mentally counts to ten, telling himself that his brother is picking a fight to avoid talking about himself. Well, it takes two to fight and Sam is not going to be one of them. While he waits he looks around the sparsely furnished room, noting the window is dark and reflective from this side. A way for them to watch the patient unseen, and Sam wonders if someone is watching them right now.

“I’m sorry.” Sam infuses those words with as much heart-felt emotion as he can. He said them to an unresponsive Dean at least thirty times after he found him the morning after their argument. He is determined that Dean not take all the blame on himself or deflect them from talking about it. Sam lowers his head, trying to regain eye contact with his brother. He keeps his voice level. “I wish you had told me how hard this all has been for you since you got back. I wish I had been more observant.”

Dean gives a small shake of his head. “Don’t Sam. This isn’t about you. It’s me. I just…” His voice gets choked up and he swallows convulsively before sipping more ice water and clearing his throat. “I’m damn sorry you had to see me like that. It won’t happen again.”

Sam’s not quite sure what to say to that, so he decides to tell Dean about what he and the doctor discussed. How Dean needs to take his pills and talk to his doctors, and fully cooperate in his treatment plan. As Sam is talking he watches his brother’s eyes come up until they are meeting his again, but they are trying to drill a hole through Sam’s head, angry and heated.

“Don’t even think about it, Sam. I am not going to sit around and, twiddle my thumbs, and do arts and crafts, and, and talk about my feelings. I’ve got this shit under control now. Just go get me my clothes and the discharge paperwork; we’re getting out of here. Now, Sam.” Sam hears a note of panic in his brother’s voice even though Dean is trying to give his best impression of the John Winchester drill sergeant voice, and Sam tries to add a soothing tone to his own. It’s like talking to a half-trained horse, trying not to spook him more.

“Dean, I really think we need to give this a try. You need to give this a try. That was an acute stress reaction, the doctor said. We, they, need to help you find a healthy way to deal with it, coping skills. Dean, it’s an illness, just like any other. You can’t just ignore it and hope it goes away.” Sam’s half pleading.

“I’m going with or without your help, Sam. So what’s it going to be? Because if you think for one second being dressed in pajamas is going to keep me here, you’d better think again.” Sam hears how brittle his brother sounds, and he feels a little trapped into this. He would rather Dean was less hard headed and would just accept that he needs help, but he knows his brother. That Winchester stubborn streak is going to force the issue, and Sam is going to end up watching him shatter again.

Sam shakes his head at Dean. “It isn’t going to work that way, Dean. It isn’t up to me or you. The doctors have committed you and they can hold you for three days, longer if they don’t see any improvement or think you’re a danger to yourself or others. Dean, your fastest way out of here is going to be to play along.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“Watched the taillights fading, there ain't a dry eye in the house_

_They're laughing and singing_

_Started dancing and drinking as I left town_

_Gonna find my way to heaven, `cause I did my time in hell_

_I wasn't looking too good but I was feeling real well_

_After all is said and done_

_I gotta move I had my fun_

_Let us walk before they make me run.”_

**_Before They Make Me Run_** by **The Rolling Stones**

Dean is still sitting on the edge of his bed, clutching his pillow on his lap. Sam finds it alarming but kind of endearing too, like the pillow is offering his big brother some kind of security. He doubts Dean even realizes he’s doing it.

Once Dean had gotten over his initial anger at being told he couldn’t leave for at least three days, Sam had filled him in quietly on their slightly fabricated childhood and occupation. Sam explains how he remade Purgatory into a war zone, too, and made sure she knew Cas and Benny were war buddies. But the impromptu planning session is not really going well and Sam is concerned. He knows Dean has been dosed with some serious drugs, and he can only hope he’s reaching him. Besides his mental state, Dean isn’t looking well physically, probably side effects of the medications.

Dean is pale and sweating, pupils large and eyes glassy green, freckles standing out across the bridge of his nose, and, even though he is obviously trying to maintain his composure, Dean’s trembling. Sam wants to wrap him up in blankets, or something. Cocoon him in safety. Plus, he really wishes his brother would stop trying to be a superhuman. He wouldn’t expect it of Sam, and he wouldn’t try to jump up and run out of the hospital if he were undergoing a physical injury, probably…maybe. Sam still hasn’t told Dean the rest of what the doctor said, but, then again, maybe he should tell him one thing at a time. Reduce his stress, she said. Don’t let him see every obstacle as life altering. We want to keep him fourteen weeks. Yeah, right.

At any rate, Sam is going to try to talk Dean into getting the help he needs, however long that takes. Hell can wait, as far as Sam’s concerned. Sam is at the point where Dean is his priority, and he needs Dean to be there too. “What exactly do they think is wrong with me?” Dean asks after visibly regaining some control. “I, umm, never heard of anyone who did that, what I did.”

Sam wonders how dangerous it would be to hug him. Dangerous to Sam, that is. Sam knows it would make him feel better, and he thinks Dean could use a hug, but they have never been a demonstrative family. Come to think of it, he can’t even remember ever telling Dean how much he loves him; he’s been thinking about what the doctor said - it takes ten positives per every negative to build healthy self-esteem. Sam knows he has bickered with his brother over the need to talk about his feelings, and wonders when he had become as emotionally disconnected as his big brother because he is seriously in arrears in giving Dean affirmatives.  

Lost in these thoughts, and because he doesn’t feel well and didn’t sleep well, Sam doesn’t respond to Dean right away. “Earth to Major Tom. Come in, please,” Dean grates out, his face creasing into a worried frown. Sam blinks and refocuses. “And, he’s back.” Dean snipes. “Where’d you drift off to, Sam? How you doing? You okay? Eat something? Where you staying?”

The barrage of questions – about his health – helps Sam make up his mind. Things are going to change, and they are going to change right here, right now, starting with him. He stands up, unintentionally looming over Dean. “Come here,” Sam orders gruffly, sounding like their dad, again.

“Umm, right here, Sam. In front of you. Umm, here.” Dean stammers a little, and Sam realizes his posture is threatening.

“Dean.” Sam speaks softly. “I need a hug. I need to physically hold onto you for a minute, and I swear to God that if you don’t let me, I’m going to have a breakdown too. And I don’t want to hear any of your smart-assed remarks about me being a girl.” He gestures. “Now stand up and hug me, damnit.”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes a couple times, but he doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move. “Get over here,” Sam demands, and he’s kind of surprised when Dean obeys, sets down his pillow, gets to his feet and shuffles closer. Sam doesn’t give him a chance to change his mind. He grabs Dean and pulls him in, enveloping him in a massive bear hug, wrapping his arms around his back and resting his head on top of his brother’s. He holds on until he feels, finally, Dean’s arms snake around him, hugging back. Sam sighs in relief and goes to step two of his spontaneous plan. “I love you, Dean, and I need you. You mean more to me than anyone else in the world. So you can’t just drift away, okay? You can’t shut yourself off, or shut down, and you can’t shut me out any more.”

Sam can feel the trembling through his brother’s body, and he wishes he could infuse his brother in a wave of love. He almost doesn’t hear the strangled “Me too” from Dean, knowing even being that open is a stretch from his brother. Sam hugs a little tighter, reveling in being this close, until Dean starts to squirm and make choking sounds. “Too tight, Sasquatch! Lemme go, can’t breathe.”

And Sam lets him go because he can tell the shaking has diminished, and that his brother has reached his tolerance for “chick flick” stuff. He pats Dean’s shoulder as he pushes his arms out and gives them some space without completely letting go. They hear a sound, someone clearing their throat near the door. “Mr. Smith?”

“Dean.” The older brother answers as he spins away from Sam, stumbling against the bed, and then he does something the younger brother is not used to; Dean flushes, gets flustered, looks down and apologizes. “I’m sorry, Doctor Smith. There’re just too many Smiths in the room. I didn’t mean to …” She cuts his apology short. “That’s quite alright, Dean. I want you to be comfortable. I’m sorry I intruded, especially on a hug because those are therapeutic.”

The older Winchester stands there a moment, obviously gathering his composure. “Excuse me,” he says as he stalks into the bathroom and shuts the door. Sam looks up and smiles at the doctor, and she can see the relief written there, especially compared to his closed expressions earlier.

Doctor Smith smiles back. “I’m sorry to have interrupted. It looked like you two were having a moment. And that’s good. Dean is going to need a strong supportive network to fully recover. And not to sound ominous, but it will not be a quick process. Your brother will need to learn to walk before he runs.”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet about the treatment plan,” Sam says, wondering if there’s any good way to ask her to leave, to just walk away for a while and let him break the news to his brother.

“Talk to me about what?” Dean asks as he reenters the room, having put on and tied a blue robe and soft slippers. His face and hair are still damp from where he splashed water from the sink on them. Sam can see how defensive Dean’s posture is, how stiff and how formal, as controlled as he can get right now unarmed and dressed in pajamas. Yep, it was too easy before; Dean’s on guard now.

“Well, for one thing, there’s some tests they’d like to do, Dean. PET scan, CAT scan, I guess sometimes there’s physical changes if someone has PTSD.” Sam’s talking a little fast, and he shoots a warning glance at the doctor, which is intercepted by the elder brother. Even drugged and partially out of it, Dean catches it and glares between his brother and the doctor. “There’s several therapy options too – psychotherapy, family therapy, group therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, occupational therapy, recreation therapy, physical therapy, hydrotherapy…” Sam’s talking faster, practically babbling. “You can rest up. Eat healthy. Man, they’re talking massage therapy to help with the stress. How bad could that be?”

The older Winchester takes a loose stance that Sam recognizes from years of sparring practice. Dean narrows his eyes and purses his lips. “What are you trying to distract me from, Samuel?” Dean growls out, and the doctor shivers. This is the first time she has seen the dangerous man who lives inside the fragile one who was admitted. Doctor Smith tells herself she should have expected it. Bounty hunter who hunts down those who are too dangerous for others to want to deal with, the brother said, but she sees military at this man’s core. And military without the country’s uniform spells mercenary, or soldier of fortune. And to think I was afraid for him to put him in the general population, she thinks. I should know better than to judge someone based on a pretty face.

She decides the younger giant is able to hold his own, and the doctor slips out the door: Sam is glad because he really wants a little privacy to talk Dean down. He is not planning to have a knock down fight with his stubborn older brother right now. His brother has a crazed look in his eyes, as though he’s feeling trapped, and Sam understands. He knows being locked into a psych ward is not fun times; he’s been there. “Dean, just calm down.” Sam begins, trying to be the voice of reason.

“So, tell me, Sammy,” Dean drawls out the nickname slightly mockingly. “How long are you and the doctor talking about keeping me locked up? Huh? How are you figuring on closing the gates of hell without me? Or are you planning on quitting – again? Running out on Kevin – again?” Sam gasps slightly; it seems obvious his brother is going for Sam’s weak spots. Dean keeps pushing. “Because as messed up in the head as I am right now, I’m not planning on quitting. And, Sammy, I’m not planning to stay here either.”

Dean has his back to the door, and as he is making his pronouncement about leaving to Sam, the doctor reenters the room accompanied by two big orderlies, like almost Sam-sized big, and the orderlies flank Dean, letting him notice them and determine where this is going. “Really, Sam?” Dean huffs. “You’re okay with me being some kind of prisoner here?”

Sam’s hazel eyes close wearily. Dean has always tended to see things in black and white. With his eyes closed, he doesn’t have to see the look of betrayal aimed at him. Sam can picture, instead, the hug, the progress he had made. “Dean, they are trying to help you. I’m trying to help you. You need help, man. Please.”

Dean moves at the urging of the hospital staff and they herd him back into his bed. One orderly gently tugs the robe off, and then Doctor Smith is there with an injection of a sedative into Dean’s arm. Dean lets his head thump against the pillow. His eyes never leave his brother’s. “You know this ain’t right, right, Sam? You’re supposed to have my back.” Dean’s voice is softer and slurred, and his eyes are closing. Sam moves to the bed and takes his hand.

“Dean, when I was messed up, you never gave up on me, no matter how far gone I was. You took care of me – helped get me cured. You’ve gotta trust me on this. I’m trying to help you, but you’ve got to let me. We can’t just pretend this never happened, man. Please, just relax and stop worrying about anything except doing the treatments and getting better. Trust me, I was trained by the best. And I’m going to do whatever I can to get you better, even if that means you’re mad.” Sam reaches up to ruffle Dean’s hair as he brother dozes off, and he can’t stop himself from praying.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_“It is the evening of the day_

_I sit and watch the children play_

_Doing things I used to do, they think are new_

_I sit and watch as tears go by.”_

**_As Tears Go By_ ** _by_ **The Rolling Stones**

Springtime in Kansas means changeable weather and rainy days, but it also means intense greens and children filling up the playgrounds that are almost abandoned over the winter months. The breezes are still chilly. And Sam pushes his hands further into his pockets, hunching into his jacket a little as he sits waiting on the bench by the playground where Doctor Smith had asked to meet him this morning. It’s day three officially, but only day two of having had his brother legally committed. Sam’s glum, and gloomy, and missing Dean intensely.

Sam’s pretty sure he’s a scary figure right now, and he hopes the mommies here with their pre-school aged children don’t think he’s some kind of creeper hanging out in a playground.

The fresh air feels good, though, and Sam gets a pang of guilt knowing that his brother isn’t allowed to go outside right now. They’ve declared Dean a flight risk because he told them he was leaving, go figure. The bench is hard, and Sam shifts uncomfortably – weight loss seems to be one of his symptoms from the trials, and he has never had any extra padding since he was about sixteen. He watches the kids playing, and his thoughts drift to his childhood and waiting in playgrounds for Dean to come get him after school. The trials are taking a toll on his health, worrying about Dean is too, and he lets out a noisy sigh before realizing that the doctor has joined him, quietly sitting at the end of the bench watching him. “Oh, Doctor Smith, I didn’t realize you were here. Sorry.”

With a reassuring smile, the doctor waves that away. “That’s quite alright, Sam. You were doing what I hoped you would if we met here, or at least I’m pretty sure you were.”

“And what is that?” Sam asks a little sharply, but he is actually curious. Sometimes when he is talking to Dean’s doctor he gets the feeling that she considers him as much her patient as his brother, but he’d like her to concentrate more on helping his brother.

Doctor Smith turns penetrating brown eyes on him. She waves her hands at the group of children playing. “These kids are pre-kindergarteners, Sam. They are four to five years old, here at the school waiting for parents or guardians to collect them.” She lets him watch them play, hearing the babbling, giggling, and occasional whining. “What were you doing at this age?”

Sam doesn’t hesitate. “The same thing, I guess. I was in pre-school. The other kids’ mommies or daddies, or grandparents would come get them. Dean would come get me and walk me home every day.” It’s an uncomplicated memory for him. Dean taking care of him had been long established by the time Sam was four or five. He doesn’t remember it being any other way. He shifts in his seat. “Doctor Smith, while I appreciate your concern, I wish you would focus more on my brother.”

“Sam, I am focusing on your brother. I wanted you to look at these kids because at this age, your brother became your pseudo parent.” The doctor pauses for a moment to let Sam look at this scene through that knowledge. “Now, he is certainly not the only child who has had too much responsibility placed on him too young. It’s unfortunately common in children of addicted parents. Nor am I trying to negate how difficult it was for you, but at this age you were still a child. Weren’t you?” Clearing his throat which suddenly feels tight, Sam nods his head.

“Would you say that Dean has continued in his caretaker role throughout your life?” The doctor probes and Sam has to blink back tears.  He nods again. Doctor Smith pats his hand. He does seem to need taking care of. “Since your brother spent the morning session with me today being angry and telling me I don’t understand, I need you to help me understand, please. I want to help him, but he is building a wall to keep me out. When we finish here, we’ll go have a family counseling session with your brother. Okay? But, I need your help getting the background because Dean is not cooperating right now.” Sam snorts at that. That is exactly what he expects from his stubborn jackass of a big brother.

The doctor explains that the test results are back and inconclusive on PTSD. She is currently using a diagnosis of general anxiety disorder, stress, and depression to treat Dean. What she needs from Sam is all the background she can get, including whatever he can remember about their mother and father and what he knows about Dean’s year in the war zone. She also wants Sam to tell her about Dean and Sam’s relationship, and whether Dean has ever relinquished his caretaker role. When Sam looks puzzled, she clarifies. “Who has he ever allowed to take care of him?”

“Dean takes care of me, and it’s that, but deeper,” Sam tries to explain. “He defines himself by how well he does that, like it’s his prime directive. Dad did that to him. I used to think it was just about me, but then Dean let something slip. My brother was cleaning up dad’s messes before I was even born. Not too long ago, my brother told me the only happy ending he can see for himself is for me to get married and have kids. He said he doesn’t see anything ahead for himself but to go out fighting. I tried to get him to trust me more to get through what we’re doing right now, but…” Sam trails off. “I guess I don’t really have a great history of being trustworthy for him.”

Doctor Smith still feels like she has more holes than background, so she tries again. “What can you tell me about what it is you do? How stressful it is; how dangerous? Your brother, well, he laughed at me when I told him he can’t treat every work emergency as though the world hangs in the balance. I’d like to understand his perspective better.”

Sam considers for a moment, and he finds himself getting angry, not so much at the doctor, but at the world that has never appreciated what he and Dean have sacrificed for it, and probably never will. This world that doesn’t see his brother as the big damn hero he is.

“How dangerous?” Sam snorts. “We both should be dead more than a few times. I can’t remember if it was Kipling or Orwell, or neither, but there’s a quote about people being able to sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because ‘rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.’ Well, mostly people think about the military when they hear that quote, but they should think about my family. This is our family business. This is what our dad did, and what he trained us both to do like we were soldiers after my mom died because she didn’t just die in a house fire. My mom was killed by some pretty evil sonsofbitches.”

“Dean was learning marksmanship when most kids are learning to ride bikes. He didn’t just raise me – he was my trained bodyguard. He managed to keep me out of it a little longer, ignorant of it even, but I wasn’t even a teenager before it sucked me in too. There are things that have to be handled quietly, quickly, efficiently and kept out of the news. Things the government can’t be involved in, and the military isn’t equipped to handle; but if they’re not done, then, yeah, it would be catastrophic for the world. That guy you’re treating, my big brother, has literally saved the world more than once. And, lady, I’m not some silly kid who doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“He was tortured, about five years ago, and when he came back he was different, but still every bit as determined to put every damned person who has ever needed help ahead of himself. And, no, he didn’t get professional help; he didn’t even get unprofessional help. He got plopped right back in the middle of it all. Most people don’t even believe the things we do are needed, so it puts a crimp in being able to get help. The, uh, guy who got him out might be the only guy my big brother has ever allowed to look after him. But that’s the same guy who betrayed him later, and who just recently beat him and stole something damned important from him. His other friend, his war buddy who just died? Well, he was playing for the other side before, so I didn’t trust him even though he got my brother back. Dean trusted him. Dean’s pretty good at figuring people out.”

“And, yeah, the thing we’re working on right now, it is life or death for thousands of innocent people. So my brother is probably right, we shouldn’t be so worried about anything except getting him on his feet and back out there doing what he is the best in the world at, saving people who don’t even care whether he lives or dies. But you know what, Doctor Smith? I’m tired of giving everything, and I think my brother deserves better.” There’s a hitch in Sam’s voice as he says this. “I don’t know how he’s held on as long as he has, and when he went catatonic…Well, Dean shattering is the last thing I ever expected. He has always been the strong one. I’m the waffler, the one who tries to quit, screws things up, makes it worse or falls apart, or who gets seduced over to the dark side. Dean’s the only one who has never wavered in his commitment.” Sam has to stop and cough. It takes some effort for him to catch his breath again, and he sits there quietly, appalled at himself for saying everything he just did out loud. Sam pushes his hair back and sighs. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much,” he begins.

Doctor Smith holds up her hand to stop him. “Don’t be. This was obviously something you needed to say, and it’s something I needed to know. It … complicates … things as far as your brother’s recovery, and it makes me very sad for the both of you.”  The doctor sits quietly for a moment beside Sam, both of them watching the children play. Sam feels wetness on his cheeks and only then discovers he has been crying. Without a word, Doctor Smith hands him a tissue and gives him a little longer to regain his composure.

After the brief pause, Doctor Smith turns back to Sam. “This other guy your brother trusts? Is there any way he can get here to help? Dean is going to need someone to help take care of him - to get him to eat and rest, and to talk to when he’s worried about you.”

Sam shakes his head. “I tried to reach him, but I haven’t heard back. I know it sucks but it’s going to be just me and Dean.”

The doctor stands up and gets ready to leave. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Sam; and I know that you’d rather I just looked after your brother, but it seems like that is going to be up to you soon. You need someone to talk to too when you’re worried about your brother, so you don’t get so angry and unload on him. He’s not going to be up for that for a while. Oh, and Sam, I expect you to fulfill the hug quota.” Sam looks at her puzzled.

“At least four a day until further notice… Hugs are therapeutic, Sam. They convey a sense of safety, and they build self-esteem. They also help people overcome feelings of loneliness, anger, and isolation. I am prescribing hugs.” Doctor Smith says this very firmly and with the mom sense that has always cowed the boys.

“Are you trying to get my arms broken?” asks Sam, a small grin pulling at the side of his mouth.

“Harrumph. Suck it up, Sam. It’s medicine.” And she walks off.


	5. Chapter 5

_“Well I heard a quiet man’s half a man_

_With no sense of pride_

_If I have to cry to keep you_

_I don’t mind weeping_

_If weeping’s gonna keep you by my side.”_

**_Ain’t Too Proud to Beg_ ** _by_ **The Rolling Stones**

 

The set of his jaw tells Sam as much as the narrowed and flashing green eyes that Dean is less than pleased with his brother as he is escorted into the family counseling room. Sam decides to ignore the look as he grabs Dean in a sneak attack hug, the narrow space not giving the older Winchester any way to physically back out of it. Sam hides his grin from his brother who is trying to throw Sam off without turning the embrace into a wrestling match the orderly needs to break up. Finally, Dean just stops, still and stiff while his younger brother hugs him.

“Hey, Dean, quit being a jerk,” Sam says as he thumps him on the back and releases him, but then Sam has to grab his shoulders to steady him because Dean pulls away and off-balances. “Come over here and sit. Doctor Smith is going to be here in a minute. We’ve got some ideas that I think you’ll be okay with.” Sam feels good, not physically good…physically he feels like something the cat hacked up…but he feels better about Dean. Losing the gnawing pit of worry over his brother’s mental health is a great relief. Talking to the doctor, well, let’s just say it was therapeutic. Sam laughs to himself and thinks Dean should try actually talking to his doctor.

Dean slouches in his chair still scowling, but he contains his sprawl, refusing to touch Sam, giving his brother a terse, “Sam” as greeting. Dean doesn’t do captivity well; and Sam knows that and isn’t mad at the passive-aggressive nature of Dean’s non-hug and sparse greeting. By the end of this session, Sam knows he’ll have gotten his brother on board with the plan and moving toward recovery. Maybe, just maybe, the brothers Winchester will end up in a better state of mental health than either of them has been in before. And Sam knows Dean will agree to try it, or Sam is ready to plead, make puppy dog eyes, hell, cry if he has to. Dean’ll give in because he always does.

The room is about the size of a large closet and it contains four upholstered chairs, two pairs facing each other, and Sam tugs him down beside him. The space is beige and undecorated except for a huge poster of an emotion wheel that lists primary and secondary emotions. When the door opens again, Doctor Smith enters carrying a knapsack which she places on the chair beside her as the orderly steps out of the room.

The body language from Dean is screaming how he feels, but the doctor decides to make him verbalize it. Recognizing what you feel – being able to put a name to it – is a step toward dealing with emotions in a healthy adult manner. “Hello, Sam, Dean. How are you feeling?” When Doctor Smith asks it, it’s not a banal greeting; it’s a request for information.

“I’m feeling like I should be released instead of incarcerated,” Dean returns, voice dripping saccharine.

The older woman gives him a small smile. “We talked earlier …”

“You talked,” Dean interrupts. She nods, “I talked to you about primary and secondary emotions. If you look at the inside of the wheel, you can see it identifies sad, mad, scared, joyful, powerful, and peaceful as the core feelings. Could you tell me which of those you most feel right now?”

“I’ll take mad for $200, Alex,” Dean snipes, and Sam starts counting under his breath to stop from wanting to smack his brother. Making references to television game shows is more deflection.

“I’d say I’m scared,” Sam says, and watches anger get flushed out of his brother for anxiety. Dean pops into big brother mode. “What are you scared of Sam? I’m the one who’s…” He glances over at the chart. “What’s the opposite of powerful? I’m locked up, that’s the opposite. But that makes me mad.”

“Well, Dean. I chose scared because I feel anxious about you and your well-being, and rejected when you won’t even hug me back. Then I feel insecure and discouraged, so, yeah, scared fits best right now.”

Dean looks over to the chart. “Damnit, Sam. You saying stuff like that when I’m feeling pretty justified in my anger about you letting people lock me up makes me feel stupid and remorseful and depressed, and they all fall into the big sad category. And that makes me feel frustrated and hurt, so now I’m back in the mad category; and this whole thing is making me nuts, and I swear if you or the doctor smirk at me for making me talk about my feelings, I’m gonna get overwhelmed – and for some reason it’s in the scared category. And I don’t want to go there.”

Sam is trying to hold back a smile because Dean is actually talking about his feelings; and, yeah, they’re kind of jumbled right now and all falling in the negative zones, but he’s talking. Instead, Sam says matter-of-factly, “So hug me back, so I don’t feel rejected.”

“What? Right now? In front of…” Dean trails off with a huff and a glance at the doctor. “You’re both sneaky. Where does manipulated fall on the chart? ‘Cause I’ll tell you something, little brother, it’s the opposite of powerful too.” But even while he’s grousing, Dean reaches for Sam’s shoulder and squeezes, and Sam realizes those shoulder pats and squeezes his brother has given him for years are mini-hugs. Sam grins at his brother and barely refrains from pulling him into another bear hug. Baby steps, he tells himself. As long as they’re leading to recovery that’s okay.

Dean clears his throat and turns back to the doctor. “Okay, what was that supposed to accomplish?”

“It’s supposed to help you be able to figure out where your negative feelings are coming from before you act on them because that mostly only leads to more of the same types of feelings. I’d like for you to tell me if there are any positive feelings you felt today and what you were doing when they occurred.”

Sam watches as Dean’s eyes flick around the chart on the wall. “You mean, like I felt kind of relaxed when I was getting the massage?” And Doctor Smith smiles. “Exactly like that, Dean. And I’m happy to hear that the massage was effective. You will need to find some ways to relax to help yourself when you leave here. Were any of the other therapies we tried today effective?”

Dean crosses his arms in front of him and snorts. “I want Sam to have to answer that question too. I, uh,” and his eyes fly to the chart again, “feel insecure and embarrassed when I gotta talk about it but no one else does.”  

“Hopeful, Dean. I feel hopeful right now, like we can do this. Like I can stop worrying so much about you. Like if I get you out of here, maybe you’ll take good enough care of yourself that you’ll be okay. I want to hug you again.” Sam can hardly contain himself, but holds off because Dean looks horrified.

“Hugs are important,” Doctor Smith says. “Research show that people who get at least seven hugs a day are the most well-adjusted people. Hugs help cure depression and insomnia; they reduce stress levels and boost self-esteem too.”

A strangled noise from Dean draws the other two’s attention. “I can’t find how I feel on the list!” He starts, voice cracking. He clears his throat and turns toward his brother. “There’s no frikkin’ way I’m gonna to be hugging you seven times a day, dude. That’s, that’s just too weird! And there’s other ways to show someone you care. Seriously. Listen, man, I don’t have to hang on you to be trying to help and take care of you. I can fix you breakfast or a sandwich, that’s like hugs from me… Or when I go shopping a pick up the stuff you like without asking. Sam, I’m not, I’m not real talkative about it, but I always…” Dean’s obviously becoming distressed, almost hyperventilating and unable to articulate his thoughts.

Sam leans over him and rubs Dean’s back trying to calm the older man. “It’s okay, Dean. It’s gonna be okay.”  But Dean’s words sent darts of shame through Sam because Dean has always done things like feed him and take care of him. Sam had just never thought of those that way, and it makes him realize he takes those actions from his brother for granted. He takes Dean for granted. The worst part of the feeling he gets, though, is thinking about how Dean has always bought food especially for Sam, things Dean doesn’t even eat, like health foods and salad, and how Dean has done it without even waiting to be asked. In his mind, Sam contrasts that with how often, even when his brother specifically asks, Sam doesn’t pick up any pie. It sounds petty; but added up the occurrences over the years; Sam realizes he has been guilty of withholding love in a form his brother recognizes.

Doctor Smith clears her throat to get their attention. “So, I think that went really well,” she says, ignoring the choked sound from Dean. “And I think this is a good time to explain these journals I have for both of you.” She holds up two notebooks, identical except for the colors. She flips one open to the front cover to show a small chart like the one on the wall. Then she opens it to a lined page.

“Each day I want to both to write down your overall primary positive and negative emotion of the day, and then what happened to make you feel that way. Besides that, I want you to note how many physical hugs you gave or received. I’m going to start you both out with a minimum of three per day. Find the time to do it privately if it’s going to embarrass you.” The doctor is in full lecture mode. “I expect, if you two are serious about wanting Dean to recuperate and not relapse, that you will do this every day for the next fourteen weeks; that’s the length of time I would normally keep someone who had such a severe acute reaction to anxiety.”

She fixes first Dean and then Sam with a firm look. “During these next fourteen weeks, I want liquor cut out of your diet. Additionally, I want you both to get at least thirty minutes of exercise, walking or swimming, every day – and I want what it was noted in the journal. I also want you to note what meals you eat and how many hours you sleep. I want you both to find a new hobby – not work related – and spend at least half an hour per day on it. And, finally, I prescribe at least one massage per week. You can have as many hot baths as you like between. You are not allowed to hide the journals from each other, and I expect them to be truthful. Am I understood?”

Dean looks at her with his forehead furrowed. “No, I don’t get it. I mean, yeah, I understand. Emotions, hugs, eat, sleep, exercise, hobby and massage. That I understood. I mean, does this mean…? Are you letting me go?” When she nods her head, she is treated to the first full-blown Dean smile she has seen.

“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupts. “What about pills? Shouldn’t Dean be on some pills?”

Doctor Smith shakes her head. “Pills are never the answer for these things by themselves. They are just a stop-gap measure until the therapy helps, and it’s dangerous to use them if you’re not under doctor’s care. Additionally, Sam, based on what you said about how dangerous your jobs are, I think the side effects could be detrimental.” She looks at Dean. “As the older sibling, I want you to be the example here and follow doctor’s orders. Your mental health is as important as your physical. Got that?”

Dean nods his head. “Yes, ma’am.” He stands up, and holds his hand out to Doctor Smith. When she takes it, Dean pulls her up into a hug. “Thank you,” he adds.

**. . . . . . .**

Things have not gone back to the way things were before, not completely. Sam and Dean are actually being more careful with each other and trying to follow the program the doctor gave them. Sam even tried to bake Dean a pie, with mixed results. It was completely inedible, but Dean walked around with a huge smile for hours. 

A few days after that, Dean walks into the MoL bunker, back from a walk into town where he went to a massage therapist and then picked up some groceries and beer on his way back (because beer isn’t alcohol in Dean’s book) and he sits down to note his exercise in his journal. 

Sam comes stumbling into the room looking disheveled from sleep and ill. Dean makes a crack about his hair and gets told to shut up. But it’s easy banter, and Dean even tries to keep it light when Sam’s reaction time is so slow a tossed beer flies past him to explode on the floor. He makes a mental note to himself, “How does that make me feel? Terrified.” 

The "You Have Email" notification pops up on the laptop, and Sam checks it. “It's from Charlie. ‘In the neighborhood, found you guys a case.’ Found us a case?” 

“In the neighborhood?” Dean asks. 

But they both think it’ll be nice to see Charlie again, and maybe spread the hugs around a little. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my little five-act play. I just wanted to explore the mental health issue a little more - sometimes I think the show gives it short shrift, and I wanted to do it mostly from Sam's point of view.


End file.
